Acquired Skills

They call me the Snake. My slim figure and height contribute to this nickname, but it mostly stems from my ability to slip through crowds and claim their belongings as my own, without an ounce of guilt. I’ve never been caught, and I don’t plan to start now.

I finagle my way through the horde of rampant shoppers on the busiest day of the year for retailers across the country. Black Friday creates a chaos like none other. The day after a holiday dedicated to being grateful for what we have, these materialistic buyers enter a craze of spending, saving, pushing, and shoving. I’m not one to judge them seeing as I’m braving this madness along with them.

No one notices me sneaking my hand into their purse or pocket as I make my way around the department store. Not even the cameras can catch my theft with the swarms of people blocking any view of my actions.

I snatch a wallet, and sometimes a pack of cigarettes, and throw them into my satchel. My ragged canvas satchel has become quite heavy with my loot and has left my shoulder a bit sore. I switch to the other shoulder and carry about my shady business.

After two and a half hours my bag is at its capacity, and my aching feet are a reminder of my hard work and my crappy shoes. I saunter over to the shoe aisle and browse the selection for a few minutes. I choose a pair of white Nike's and try them on. Only, I’m not just trying them on. I’ll be leaving the store with them, and don’t think I’ll be paying for them with my hard-earned money.

No one even notices me stealing the shoes. They’re too busy filling their carts with belongings that they’ll soon discover they have no way to pay for.  

With my stealth and confidence, you’d think I’d be comfortable enough around security guards at the doors, but my heart flutters every time I come near them, though I act calm and inconspicuous.

I don't go unnoticed as I make my way for the exit. “You.” One of the large men says to me with a voice that will not take no for an answer. “I need to look in your bag.”

“My bag? Sir, that seems unnecessary. Isn’t a guy allowed to carry a satchel? You don’t just go through every woman’s purse, do you?” I answer calmly.

“Don’t take it personally.” He says, approaching me. I have a split second in which I take off, bolt through the door and away from the screaming security guard calling for back up. I don’t waste a moment to look back. I just keep running. I know they won’t catch up with me. Another nickname of mine is the Speed, and not just on account of my running abilities.

Yes, I have many skills. Sleight of hand, pick-pocketing, selling paraphernalia (I prefer to think of myself as a businessman), and I would even say I’m pretty good with the ladies.

I see a woman up ahead walking to her car. By her clothes I can tell she is loaded. It doesn’t matter to me if she makes a living for herself, or is she has some kind of sugar daddy. My thievery does not discriminate.

I am far enough from the store and close enough to my car that I decide to take on one more handbag. I slyly approach her from behind.

Abruptly, she spins around on the heel of her Gucci boot and brandishes pepper spray in my face. “Stop right there!” She exclaims.

“Woah there, no need for that.” I say in my most casual voice. “I was just going the same way as you, is all. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I know what you were planning.” She says matter-of-factly.

“I- I what? I wasn’t planning anything, miss.” I stammer, thrown off a bit.

“I read your mind. You were going to rob me.” She states.

“What? I wouldn’t do that. To be honest I just wanted to tell you I think you’re very beautiful and I hope you have a nice day.” I tell her, attempting to summon my best sweet talk.

“I don’t buy that for a second.” She says.

“Seriously I just wanted to give you a compliment.” I say, knowing this is not going well. "How could you have read my mind?"

“I have the gift of telepathy. I heard you thinking about stealing my purse. For your information, I paid for these clothes with my own money. And by the way, I am married so I don’t care for your flattery, it’s an excuse, anyway.”

I can tell by the look on her face that she can sense my disbelief that it was her own money.

“Mind reading doesn’t exist, you’re full of it!” I proclaim.

“Think what you want. By the way, you should look behind you.” She says.

Before turning around, I see her lift her hands in the air, declaring innocence. Then I realize the reason as the security guards body slam me, knocking me to the ground. They open up my bag to see all my stolen goods and immediately start zip tying my hands together. One of them radios someone letting them know the situation, and soon a police car shows up, blaring its sirens and blinding me with its lights.

I should have just done what I'm good at and ran as soon as she was on to me. Arguing with the woman was against my better judgement. Now I'm paying the price.

I’m shoved into the back of a police car. My bag has been confiscated, which is very bad news, needless to say. I have more than stolen wallets in there. I had a very important stash of a product that was going to help me pay rent and keep my customers satisfied.

   I won’t be getting off the hook easily. I should be more concerned about that, but I can’t get that woman off my mind. How could she have known? Telepathy doesn’t exist! I refuse to believe it. Maybe she sensed my presence and made a guess. ESP is a real thing, I think, and I’m pretty sure it’s not the same as a psychic ability. Why else would I have learned about it in psych class?

  It was just a coincidence. She assumed I was going to rob her because she’s probably one of those women that hates men and always expects the worse from them. That’s the explanation I must go with. There is no supernatural force providing anyone with such insight. Spirits don’t exist. Powers don’t exist. God above doesn’t exist, at least in my case I sure hope not.

        It’s so far-fetched, and yet I find myself wondering if she is a witch who put a spell on me, beginning with my capture, but not ending with my detainment.

They throw me in a dirty cell that smells of piss. The guard says, “Happy thanksgiving, scumbag.” as he slams the door shut. Just like that I’ve earned a new nickname.